Free Stand Alone by P.D. Workman

start being her?
    Justine knew that there were people who spent days looking through missing children pictures, looking for pictures they recognized. She didn’t know how they could do it. The hours crept by and she didn’t feel like she was any closer to finding herself in the endless database than she had been when she started. And who knew if she was even looking in the right place. Justine stretched and got up to make herself another coffee. Her elbows and knees in particular we stiff after taking so many tumbles the night before. Justine rubbed them gently and put the coffee on. While it was brewing, she went upstairs to Em’s room. Em kept the photos in a box, always planning on assembling them in a scrapbook, but never getting to it. There was also a baby book, listing all of Justine’s early milestones, and preserving her hospital bracelet, a lock of hair, and other mementos. Justine touched the lock of hair. Maybe she could get it DNA tested. If she could prove that it wasn’t hers, then people would have to listen to her. They’d have to admit that she wasn’t the real Justine, but someone else that Em had kidnapped somewhere. Then she could be free. There was a pair of baby footprints too, but they were so smeared that Justine couldn’t work out the lines and whorls and tell whether they were her own or not. Sighing, she put the baby book away. There was nothing else there to help her.
    She went back down to the computer, and examined picture after picture of little girls that could have been her.

    After a fruitless weekend of searching for herself on the internet, it was back to school. Justine slipped into a desk. The boy in the desk next to her eyed her, frowning.
    “You’re in the wrong seat,” he told her.
    “Oh, sorry,” Justine said, “I’m new here.”
    He looked her over, one eyebrow raised.
    “You’re not new,” he scoffed. “You’re that Justine chick. You think I don’t know you?”
    Justine looked at herself. She had borrowed some of Em’s clothes, dressed in an unfamiliar feeling pair of pants and a print vest over her blouse. She wore a knitted cap covering her hair and had it braided, and tucked into her shirt so it didn’t show. She’d even put on a few touches of make-up, and had been practicing a different walk and mannerisms so that she wouldn’t be easily recognized.
    “My name isn’t Justine,” she said. “It’s Katie. I’m new today.”
    “Nice try. And that’s Lanaea’s seat, so you’d better move,” he pointed out.
    Justine shook her head. An instant later, Lanaea herself stood at Justine’s elbow.
    “What are you doing in my desk? Move it, freak.”
    “Hi,” Justine said. “My name is Katie. I’m just new today. Sorry, I didn’t know this was your seat.”
    Lanaea shook her head, rolling her eyes.
    “That may have worked the first time you tried it a couple of years ago,” she said scathingly. “But it’s a bit old now. Come on, get out of my seat.”
    Justine refused to get up. Other students were talking and whispering around her. But she stuck to her guns. She was determined to be a new student today. She had prepared, and she should have been able to fool them. Some of the students looked at her in puzzlement. Others ignored her and just sat down. The teacher arrived and looked around impatiently at the class.
    “Take your seats, please. What’s going on here?”
    The other students sat down. Lanaea remained standing beside Justine. Mr. Potter looked at her, scowling.
    “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
    “I’m a new student,” Justine said, “I just transferred in.”
    He looked momentarily confused.
    “Is this some kind of joke?” he questioned, looking at Justine, and looking around at the rest of the class for their reaction.
    “No. My name is Katie. I’m new today.”
    He frowned. He studied her for a moment and made up his mind.
    “You’re not Katie. You’re Justine Bywater. And you’re not in this class. So